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Thursday, December 22, 2016

Half way through May I unceremoniously kicked out of my house the narcissistic parasite that I had allowed to attach to my heart.

Actually, it was fairly dramatic to be honest. After telling him that if he didn't have his stuff removed from my residence by 5.30pm that evening, I would start putting it out on the street. As he felt omnipotent, as narcissists do, he didn't heed my threat. Trouble was, I had reached my breaking point, and proceeded to carry out my threat.

On one trip to the gutter Nathan said to me "I feel like I'm living in an episode of Shameless." I replied, "So do I. For the last three years!" and continued putting stuff in the gutter. (Not proud of this. Just an example of how perfectly imperfect I am as well.)

I took a photo of what I had already put out there and sent it to him. Funnily enough, he arrived within 5 minutes of the photo being sent. Extremely intoxicated. Did I mention that he's also an alcoholic and addict? I know. Winning Vicky - I sure can pick 'em! Send your wounded, damaged, addicted souls to me.

When he arrived, he confronted Nathan, "Think you're a big man now do you?" and shoved him. My son is now taller then him, and the same size. But Nathan's a lover, not a fighter, and walked away from him.

The lioness within me had been poked into roaring, and the removal of his belongings amped up a notch. I no longer carefully placed his belongings out of my home. It took all my self control not to attack him. How dare he lay his hands on my son!! I fueled my fury into removing his stuff out of my home faster. He pushed me. I pushed back, walked away and called the police to come and supervise. To come and supervise ME, so that I didn't get pulled into his jungle of deceit and instability. I wasn't afraid of him. I was afraid of me, and what may erupt if I didn't take some control.

Over the previous several months, I had started to become increasingly aware that the thief I had given to my heart to was not who he pretended to be, and had been reading more and more about Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD). Naively, or arrogantly (the jury's still out on that one), I believed that I could help him see that he was unwell, and get the help he needs, and live happily ever after. Trouble is happily ever after only exists in fairy tales.

After I evicted him from my home, I thought I had successfully evicted him from my life as well. I did. For a while. About 5 weeks to be honest. I tried to get on with my life, with reestablishing some sense of order, and reclaiming of my self. Work. Kids. Self. Friends. Life. All the things that had be relegated far down the chain of attention ...easier enough to do when the person you're involved with demands your undivided attention like the succubus they are.

I was in the shower when I first felt a lump near my lumpectomy scar. It wasn't very big, and so close to the scar that I couldn't determine whether it was a lump or an extension of scar tissue. An alarm bell went off in my psyche. Which I promptly shut the fuck down. Yeah... no. Nobody got time for dealing with that shit again thank you very much...

Over the next couple of weeks I would find that my fingers had subconsciously found their way to the lump...was it real? maybe it was my rib I was feeling? no, it's part of the scar...It's nothing... I had a scan in February and it was all clear.... Over and over, as my fingers read my breast like braille, seeking the words of confirmation that it was nothing.

It's ok. I have an appointment with the radiation oncologist mid June. I'll get him to check it. It's ok.

Monday, December 19, 2016

On Saturday night I went to a 30th birthday party, with a Great Gatsby theme. I needed earrings to complete my outfit, so I dared to dive into a bag of jewellery that I have been carting around for the last four years, and adding to at each frantic move that has occurred in those four years. I found a pair, and left the bags contents strewn over the floor as the Great Gatsby awaited.

I only got back to the detritus this morning. As I was looking for earrings on Saturday night there were moments of recognition of pieces that I had been given, or made, or brought, like a rapid slide show going off in my head. I had planned to scoop all the contents up and put it back in the bag, to be shoved back in the cupboard, waiting to be carted away the next time I moved house. Except, that's not what happened. I started really looking at the pieces. And remembering...back to times when I wore whatever I wanted, and someone else's approval wasn't sort after, because I really didn't care if anyone else liked it or not. I did, and that was all that mattered.

I found myself slowing down, and sorting through the debris. Oh look, there's a set of earrings! and another! beautiful, intricate, dangling earrings... why did I stop wearing them? And there's my toe ring!...I thought I had lost that...why did I stop wearing that as well? Broken necklaces and bracelets made from a myriad of crystals, thrown into the bag with the intention of fixing them. Why didn't I fix them?

As I sat on the floor, surrounded by little piles of earrings, broken necklaces and bracelets, and items I no longer wanted, I felt the very long languor that I have been occupying, lift. The shroud that has been over me for far too long, was cast aside. I felt AWAKE.

A beautiful woman died last night. She has been living with terminal bowel cancer for the last 3 years. Her light reached out and touched many of us. In her book Breakfast, School Run, Chemo she wrote "Don't die with your light inside you." Julia, here's to you. Thank you. I'm going to shine brighter then a mother fucking star.